


Fading Dreams.

by Spannah339



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Dreams, Gen, but not really, kinda djinn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-30 19:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12115680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spannah339/pseuds/Spannah339
Summary: (So I'm just winging this, no idea where it's going really!)Sergeant Dean Winchester comes home from war shell-shocked and suffering from PTSD. He is often woken by nightmares his wife says are from his time on the front lines, but he's not so sure - he dreams of some strange things. Everything comes to a head when he finds an old, 67 Chevy Impala in the garage of his new house and he nearly runs over a man who seems to vanish. Soon, a strange man shows up at his house, claiming to know him but apart from a few fading dreams, Dean has never seen this 'Sam' in his life.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 _He was running into an abandoned village, towards a young man who staggered in his direction, holding a wounded arm. He was watching helplessly as another man appeared behind the first and let out a cry of warning – but it was too late._  
  
_The young man slumped forward, keeling over in the mud, a knife in is back. He rushed forward, dropping to his knees in front of the young man, gripping his face in his hands, feeling the blood on his back, calling his name again and again._

_He was kneeling in the mud, cradling a young man in his arms, telling him over and over again that it would be alright, that he was fine, that it wasn’t even that bad. But it was already too late._

 Dean woke suddenly, staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavily. It took him a long moment to remember where he was – in the new house.

 Mallory shifted beside him, laying a hand on his chest. She looked at him worriedly.  
   
  “Another nightmare?” she asked, her voice heavy with sleep. Dean nodded, still looking at the ceiling. “Oh, baby.” She rubbed his chest, leaning on him. “The war’s over – you’re home now.”  
   
  He nodded again, trying to pinpoint the sense of unease he felt. It was probably nothing, he told himself, closing his eyes and trying to sleep again. But he couldn’t relax – every time he closed his eyes he was transported back to that muddy village, a friend dying in his arms.

 Finally, he drifted into an uneasy sleep, in which he dreamed that he was turning into a dog.

~*~*~*~*~

When he woke, Mallory was gone. He rolled over, staring at the wall and trying to get his thoughts in order. The feeling of unease he had last night was still there and he couldn’t shake it. He tried to piece together the last few months since he had returned from the war.

  Mallory had waited for him, but once he got home he had been so shell-shocked he couldn’t work. She had tried to find a job but hadn’t been able to in their hometown, so they had moved to a new town and last night had been their first night in the new house.

He knew that. So why didn’t it seem right?  
  
 The door was pushed open and Mallory appeared.

  “Hey baby,” she said, moving to sit on the bed beside him. “How are you feeling?” She laid a hand on his forehead, smiling.

 Dean was tempted to stay in bed – who didn’t want a hot chick to look after them and nurse them – but then she sighed, moving to the wardrobe.

 “I made you some breakfast – be quick or it will get cold,” she said, pulling out her uniform. She was working at a retail store until she could find better work. “I’ll be back at five. Love you.”

  Dean groaned, pushing himself up. Mallory got dressed quickly and left with a kiss. He heard the front door close behind her and the car leave the driveway.

  He pulled on a bed robe and moved downstairs, taking a short moment to find the kitchen. He hated moving – he’d done it enough as a kid with his father and brother. No… no brother, his brother had died in a fire when he was just a baby – the same fire that had killed his mother.  
  
  Shaking his head, he sat down to the bacon and eggs Mallory had prepared for him, wondering why everything felt jumbled in his mind. It was probably the move – and that dream last night had bothered him, though it was already fading.

Once he had eaten and done the dishes, he moved upstairs again to get dressed. The house seemed very empty without Mallory and he decided to start unpacking the garage.

  Boxes were stacked along the walls, but tucked against the back wall was something he knew didn’t belong to him and Mallory. It was a car, covered with an old blanket. Frowning, Dean moved forward and demoted a box of wrenches and spanners from the roof to the ground. He grabbed the corner of the blanket and pulled it off.

  He let out a low whistle at the car that was revealed and ran his hand along her roof.

 “You’re a beauty,” he said, leaning to look in her front window. “Why would anyone leave you behind?”

  She was indeed a beautiful car, an old 67 Chevy Impala – and still in good condition. She had a strange smell about her, a mix of beer and blood – a small that was strangely comforting to Dean.

 On an impulse, without really knowing why, he leant through the back window and looked at the sideboard. Carved into the wood, somewhat messily – like a child had stolen his father’s knife – where two initials – D.W and S.W.

  He ran a finger along the carved words, wondering who had done it. And why would anyone leave such a beautiful car behind? He wanted to take her out for a spin but didn’t know where the keys were. Besides, he came out here for a reason, and it wasn’t to ogle at a car.

 He spent the rest of the morning unpacking the garage, then moved inside for a quick lunch and pulled out the lawnmower to mow the lawns. Halfway through, the neighbour hailed him from across the fence. He contemplated pretending not to hear said neighbour but ended up cutting the motor with a sigh.

  “Hey, you’re the new folks, right?” the neighbour called. Dean nodded, moving to the fence. Great – his new neighbours were talk-over-the-fence type people.

 “Yeah,” he said.

 “That’s awesome. It’s really cool to have a new family move in!” the neighbour said. “Oh, I’m Stu, nice to meet you.”  
  
  “Dean,” Dean said, shaking his hand. “I should get back to the lawn,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder.

  “Oh, yeah, sure! Sorry for interrupting you!”  
  
  Dean nodded, turning around, then stopped.  
  
  “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know if the people who previously lived here left their car behind?” he asked.

 “You mean the Wilsons? Yeah, that old thing. The kids loved that car – especially Sally. So, when she died,” he shrugged. “The family didn’t want to have such a reminder of their girl so they sold and left the car behind. Pity – she’s a nice car.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know where the keys are?”  
  
 “Naw. May be under the sunshade though, if you can get into her. Anyway, I’d best be getting back to my gardening. Nice to meet you, Dean!” Stu waved and vanished behind the fence again.

  Dean forced himself to finish the lawns before returning to the car. He flicked open the sunshade and sure enough – there was the key. It dropped into his hand and he grinned like a kid on Christmas morning.

  He slipped behind the wheel and suddenly the sense of unease he’d been feeling all day diminished. It was still there, but he felt like behind the wheel of this beautiful car he could go anywhere.

 With a flick of his wrist the car burst into life. A low, rumbling purr filled the garage. Dean ran a hand along the dashboard with a smile.

 “Oh, you’re beautiful, baby,” he said.

He could drive her forever, but all too soon it was nearly five – he should be home before Mallory.

 He was pulling up his street when a man suddenly stepped urgently out in front of the car. Slamming on the breaks he let out a curse.

 “What the hell?” he demanded, leaning out the window. But the man was gone. Slightly shaky, he started the car again and pulled into his driveway, just as Mallory returned home.

 He had another dream that night.

  _He was standing in a barn, covered in symbols and strange paintings. Another man stood beside him and they both faced the door, guns in their hands._

_Suddenly, the ground started shaking and the lights flickered. He looked around worriedly and tightened his grip on the weapon._

_The door burst open and man appeared, moving forward slowly. He had black hair and blue eyes, and was above average height (though still shorter than Dean). He was wearing a beige trench coat and though Dean and his friend peppered him with bullets, nothing even slowed him.  
_

Dean suddenly woke, his heart beating wildly. The man from his dream – that had been the same man who had jumped in front of his car.


	2. Chapter 2

 “You know, I really don’t know why I had to work yesterday,” Mallory said as she bustled around the kitchen, unpacking boxes. Dean grunted, not looking up from the coffee he was nursing. “I mean, I don’t have work today and it’s silly for the to expect me to work the _first day_ I move into a new town.” She sighed, leaning on the table.

  Dean wasn’t really listening – he hadn’t slept well the night before and his mind was still addled from the strange dreams he kept having. He didn’t remember much, just the briefest flashes of feelings – shock, horror, guilt (the flash of an image of a boy, lying on the ground with his eyes burned out), relief, rage and many other emotions.  

 “Dean – hey,” Mallory was calling his name, leaning across the table. “I’m going to run to the store and get some groceries – okay?”

 Dean shook himself out of his thoughts and into reality, smiling up at his wife.

 “I’ll be here,” he said – fully intending to not be here for most of the time she was out. He loved to drive that car he had found.

 “Have you met the neighbour, Stu I think he’s called. He wants to get to know you – he invited you over for a beer. Why don’t you pay him a visit?”   
  
 Dean really wasn’t in the visiting mood, but he nodded to make her happy. She smiled at him and gave him a kiss from across the table, the grabbed her keys and coat and left.

  He leaned back, closing his eyes and breathing in the peaceful morning air, fully of the aroma of coffee and bacon. Life couldn’t get much better than this.

 Then he decided that it could, and pushed himself away from the table, grabbing the impala’s keys as he did.

He took a different route than the day before, but this time he felt something was strange. It was when he had passed the third McDonalds in four blocks he realised – he was going in circles. Was he? He couldn’t tell.   
   
 Confused, he turned the car around and headed home. It took him about half the time returning than it did going out.

  This strange event suddenly faded from his mind when he pulled up outside his house and saw Mallory, standing outside, her arms crossed.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded.   
  
  “I went for a drive,” Dean said, leaning out of the window.

 “I have no idea where you were,” she said, worry seeping through her anger. “You could have been hurt.”   
  
 “I’m not a kid, Mal,” Dean said, pulling into the garage. “You don’t have to baby sit me.” He slipped out of the car and pulled her into a hug. “I’m fine.”

 “I know,” she sighed. “I worry though.”   
  
  Dean felt somewhat guilty at her distress and promised her it wouldn’t happen again. He wasn’t sure if he would hold good on that promise, but at least she got off his back.

Over the next few days Dean began to notice more strange things. He never ventured far without Mallory, but when he did it was like the world was repeating itself. As well as that, he found himself unable to remember faces of anyone except his next-door neighbour – who had an annoying habit of dropping around every time Mallory left for work. Dean was pretty sure she had put him up to it.

If he was being honest he was getting a little tired of her trying to control everything. She even suggested he sell the impala, which he considered briefly because they were short on money, but decided against it. He felt a strange connection to that car.

 Despite misgivings about Stu, he soon began to enjoy spending time with his neighbour. They sat in Dean’s kitchen one afternoon, sharing pie and telling stories.

  “He knows something’s up 'cause we were all grinning like idiots,” Stu was saying, telling a story of how he and some college friends had covered a flatmate’s room entirely with newspaper. “He goes upstairs and we’re all waiting, and suddenly this huge pile of newspaper comes flying down and hits me directly in the head, and Jeff’s face just appears, which sets us all laughing. Course, he can’t resist it so he’s laughing as well – and the next day I found he’d stuck pictures of himself onto all of my photos!”

 Dean laughed, picking up a forkful of pie.

 “Yeah, I used to have massive prank wars with my…” he trailed off, trying to remember who he had had prank wars with. “Friends,” he ended slightly hesitantly, before shoving a mouthful of pie in his face.

 “Ah, friends are great like that,” Stu said. “Bet you have lots of stories.”   
  
 Dean nodded and swallowed the pie. It was good pie. He liked pie.

 “This one time,” he said, getting another mouthful ready, “I put itching powder in his pants while he was in the shower – he thought he was allergic to the soap!” He finished his sentence with a mouthful of pie.

 “Ah, that’s gold,” Stu said, chuckling. He picked up his own fork and open his mouth to say something when the whole world spun. Dean slumped forward, steadying himself on the table. He felt like he was spinning, leaving the kitchen behind.

  For a brief second – almost too short for him to register, he was sitting in the impala, two men standing over him worriedly, one of them calling his name and slapping at his cheeks.

  He gasped, Stu’s hand on his shoulder as he was pulled back into reality.

 “Woah, you okay Dean-o?” Stu asked, looking rather worried. Dean nodded, raising a hand and pushing himself into a sitting position. He cut himself another generous helping of pie.

 “I’m fine. Not sure what that was,” he said, tucking into the pie. But it tasted bland and lifeless and he pushed it away without finishing.

  Stu left soon after and Mallory returned. Her first action was to bustle over to him and fuss over him.

 “Stu told me what happened – are you okay?” she asked. Dean nodded, waving a hand in her direction.   
  
 “I’m fine, I just felt a bit dizzy is all,” he said. He himself was mystified by whatever it was he had just experienced. And that dream – vision – whatever it was – it had felt so real. He had felt the leather under him, the gentle slaps on his cheek. He had heard his name being called and had smelt the leather, beer and blood that came with the car. It hadn’t felt like just a flash of memory. It felt real – like he was experiencing that.   
  
 He didn’t tell Mallory, he didn’t want her to fuss over him anymore than she already was.

Despite her mother henning, he soon began to forget it had ever happened. He settled into life in the new town, even landing a job at a small garage. So what if he couldn’t remember the names of any of his customers – he was enjoying being under a car again. The dreams began to happen less often as well.

The one thing he found strange was that Mallory and Stu never met in person. They knew each other, he knew that they talked often, but he had never seen them together. They had invited Stu over for dinner a number of times, but always either he or Mallory had to cancel at the last minute. It worried Dean a little, but he didn’t dwell on it too much. He was happy.

Then everything changed one evening.   
  
He and Mallory were sitting down to dinner, talking about their day, when a knock sounded on the door. A strange expression crossed Mallory’s face, as if it were impossible someone could knock on their door. Dean stood up to get it but she jumped up, almost too fast.   
  
 “I’ll get it,” she said quickly.

  “It’s fine, baby,” Dean said. “You’ve had a long day, let me.” He smiled at her and left the room.

  Standing on the other side of the door was a man. He was taller – a little taller than Dean. He was wearing a plaid shirt and had rather long hair, swept out of his eyes. His brow was furrowed in an expression of worry, but when Dean opened the door it changed to one of relief.

“Dean!” he called, stepping forward. “Oh, thank god. We didn’t know if you were even still here.”   
  
  Dean stared at him blankly, trying to pinpoint whether or not he knew this strange man. The stranger shifted, seeming to lose his confidence and relief.   
  
  “Dean?” he asked, as if waiting for a particular answer. Dean didn’t have the answer.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.


End file.
